Irish Eyes
by Rina76
Summary: Cowboys and Angels. Vincent knows who he is but Shane is still trying to figure himself out. Vincent can help with that.
1. Irish Eyes

Title - Irish Eyes

Author - Rina

Warning - Slash. M/M pairing. Mild swearing.

Disclaimer - Pure fiction based on characters that are not mine. I am not making any money from this story.

Summary - Cowboys and Angels fic starring the delicious Vincent Cusack (played by actor Allen Leech) and the delightful Shane Butler (Michael Legge)

Shane Butler wipes his sweaty hands on his pants, takes a deep breath and enters the room, trying to project an air of calmness and confidence even though he is fraught with anxiety inside. His baby-faced looks mask his rather adult inner turmoil and his dark brown hair is swept into an up-to-the-minute style very similar to Vincent's actually, which makes sense because Vincent cut it himself when he gave Shane the Queer Eye makeover. Looking as impeccably presented as ever, Shane's flatmate and hairdresser is kneeling on the floor in his workshop, back to Shane, a measuring tape around his neck, painstakingly working on one of his detailed outfits. Vincent knows Shane is there and his tall form stiffens slightly but he doesn't turn around or acknowledge him in any way which doesn't really surprise Shane in the least, not after the shitty way he treated his blond friend two evenings ago. Full of regret for being such a quick-tempered twat, Shane wants to apologise but can't make the words come out of his stupid mouth so instead, he picks up a broom, beginning the sweep up the scraps of fabric and paper that Vincent has strewn all over the floor in his creative whirlwind. A furrow appearing in his otherwise flawless forehead, Vincent tries to continue working but the sound of Shane moving and sweeping behind him is highly distracting. Finally, he abandons his project, stands up and turns around in annoyance, hands on his hips.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping," Shane replies casually, even though his heart is thumping.

Vincent stares at his dark-haired flatmate for a second, bustling about clumsily with the broom. "If you really want to help, you can start by leaving me alone," he advises acidly. "I got a ton of work to do."

As Vincent turns back around, ignoring him, Shane sighs and stops sweeping, placing both hands over the top of the broom handle and resting his chin on it like a crutch.

"You have every right to be mad at me," he says ruefully in his almost musical Irish accent. "I was an utter prick to you the other night."

"Not gonna argue with you there," Vincent mutters bitterly, his back still to Shane.

Sighing again, Shane leans the broom against the table and walks over to the other young man. He hesitates for a moment and then lightly places a palm on Vincent's broad shoulder, feeling the heat of the second male's skin under the striped brown t-shirt he's wearing. Vincent tenses, his spine straightening, immediately halting work on the half-finished material in his hands.

"Look, I'm sorry," Shane begins contritely. "I wasn't myself the other night. My friend Jerry – who was like a father to me – had a heart attack and died at his own retirement party. Then I took this pill and it messed me up even more. I didn't mean to do what I did."

"Well, I'm truly sorry about your friend but that's no excuse for hitting me." Shane flinches at the hurt and betrayal in Vincent's voice. "And you owe me a new pair of glasses, bitch."

"I know, I know. I just want to make it up to you. I really am sorry," Shane repeats, guilt coming through in his tone. "I got jealous and totally overreacted."

"Yeah, you did," Vincent returns accusingly, swivelling in his chair and facing Shane, anger sparking in his green eyes. "It's not like I was trying to steal Gemma away from you or anything. We were just dancing. That's not a crime, is it? I know you like her, Shane, but you have to remember that she was my friend long before you met her and secondly, I'm not into carpet, no matter how blonde and beautiful it is. In case you've forgotten, I'm gay!"

After getting all that pent-up emotion out, Vincent slumps back in the nearest chair, exhaustion showing in his handsome, tanned face, caused by a long night of sleeplessness. Sounding weary, he finishes, "You had absolutely no reason to be jealous at all."

"I wasn't jealous that you were dancing with Gemma," Shane says quietly, dropping his eyes, lashes ink-black against his fair complexion.

"Pardon?" Vincent squints up at him in bewilderment. "But you just said…"

"I was jealous that she was dancing with you."

Scratching his trendily coiffed head in bewilderment, Vincent blurts out, "Okay, I'm confused. Are you high or something? Because you're not making any sense, brother."

Raising his gaze, Shane bravely meets Vincent's baffled eyes. "What I'm trying to say, Vincent, is that I'm not interested in Gemma," he explains patiently. "I never was. I was interested in you all along. It just took me a while to realise it."

Even more perplexed, Vincent exclaims, "But…but you're straight! I know you are!"

Frowning, Shane asks, "What makes you believe that?"

"Well, I heard you with Keith," Vincent points out. "I heard you and him talking. I was in my bedroom at the time." He deliberately chooses not to elaborate, "With Gemma who tried to shag me straight which was completely useless and a most awkward and uncomfortable experience and one that I hope to never, ever repeat in this lifetime."

No, he certainly does not want to reveal that mortifying little incident.

"I heard what he said to you, Shano," Vincent states. "And then it went awfully quiet in there for a minute."

Blushing in remembrance of how Keith had leaned over him on the floor, kissing his neck and unbuttoning his shirt, Shane stammers, "You…you were listening to us?"

"Thin walls, you know." Vincent's sensual lips twist in a humourless grin. "Whatever he was doing to you, I definitely heard you stop him. You said you weren't like him."

"Just because I didn't sleep with him doesn't mean anything," Shane protests, spreading his hands for emphasis. "I stopped him because it just didn't feel right. When I said that I wasn't like him, I meant that I didn't want to be part of his violent, ugly world anymore. The things I've seen lately…the things I've done… Christ." He sounds both disgusted and ashamed of himself and kicks an empty cotton reel across the floor, watching it hit the wall and bounce away.

"He's been using me to traffic drugs and I almost let him use my body as well. I decided right then and there that I wasn't gonna let that bastard have power over me anymore. He was ruining my life and I wanted it back. I wanted my freedom back. I wanted my friends back." He swallows, opaque blue eyes lifting to Vincent's, beseeching forgiveness.

"I wanted YOU back, Vincent." Shane's voice lowers, almost breaks with pain. "I-I missed you."

Touched by the raw honesty shown to him, Vincent begins to say softly, "Shane…I-" but the first boy raises a hand and cuts him off.

"When I stalked over to you in the club," Shane continues solemnly, "I didn't really want to hit you." He pauses. "Well, actually, I did because I was so angry, but I wanted to do something else more than that."

"Like what?" Vincent queries dumbly. His eyes widen as Shane steps in closer, the other boy's hands slipping into his spiked blond hair.

"Like this," Shane murmurs before brazenly leaning down and slanting his mouth over Vincent's own. Quickly recovering from his astonishment, Vincent gives a muffled groan and grabs the front of Shane's charcoal jumper, pulling the boy's lithe figure into his lap, the chair creaking as more weight is added to it. Vincent groans again as he sinks into the lusciousness of the other young man's full, beautifully-shaped lips. He'll be the first to admit that he's often thought about Shane's rosy mouth and what it would be like to kiss it. Well, now he knows. And the reality is even better than he imagined; softer, sweeter and deliciously welcoming.

Eyes falling closed, Shane opens to Vincent's persuasive probing, allowing his friend's tongue to enter his mouth and twine around his own, shivers rushing up his vertebrae at the wet, hot, immensely thrilling sensation. As they get intimately familiar with each other's taste, Vincent's long, artistic fingers cup Shane's face, the second boy's fair, freckled skin as smooth as a girl's. With the clumsy eagerness of the young and naïve, Shane tries to match the exploratory thrusts of Vincent's tongue, stroke by stroke, and learns rapidly, their jaws soon moving together in an intuitive rhythm. Dizzy with an overwhelming pleasure unlike any drug he's ever taken, Shane all but melts against Vincent's hard, warm body, marvelling at how fantastic a kisser the more experienced male is. Shane hasn't kissed many girls; in fact, only two and one of them was a pudgy office worker who leapt on him at last year's Christmas party after he accidentally walked under a sprig of mistletoe. That kiss was sloppy and nowhere near as exciting and exhilarating as this one. This kiss makes him feel alive. Glowing even, from the inside out. He almost whimpers with disappointment when Vincent gradually ends it, slowing down and pulling back, licking his wet lips.

"Shane, my boy, you are the sweetest thing I've ever tasted," Vincent declares, smacking one more peck on that delectably supple and now swollen red mouth. "I've wanted to kiss the hell out of you since the day we met. Well, met again. Even when you had flat hair and no sense of fashion whatsoever."

He gazes into Shane's eyes, seeing the same deep desire he feels reflected in the two pools of lake-blue staring back at him. "Since you're sitting in my lap, I gather you've been wanting to kiss me as well, yeah?"

"Not at first," Shane divulges. "I didn't really know you then. Or myself. But lately, yeah." He smiles shyly, adorable dimples popping into his cheeks. "Lately, I've definitely been wanting to."

"Lord, we're idiots." Vincent rolls his eyes dramatically. "Why on earth did we wait so long to do this?"

"Does that mean I'm forgiven?" Shane questions hopefully.

Arching a finely groomed brow, Vincent drawls, "That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you ever bring drugs into our apartment again."

"I won't," Shane vows seriously. "Actually, there is some here now but I'm getting rid of it. I'm not touching that shit anymore, I swear. I mean, look at what it made me do." He very gently caresses Vincent's cheekbone, the blond male wincing a little at the soreness there. Shane's own nose is tender from where Gemma punched him in a most unladylike and embarrassing manner but he's not concerned about that. He's more concerned about what damage he's caused to Vincent and kisses the bruised spot on his cheek softly, as if wanting to erase the brutal slap from both their memories.

"I'm so sorry, Vincent," he whispers, remorse etched in his soulful blue eyes. "I'll never do anything like that again. You're the best friend I've ever had in my whole life and I don't want to lose you."

Scoldingly, Vincent replies, "Well, stay away from the pills and powders and you won't. All right?"

Nodding, Shane makes a pact with himself to stay clean from now on. Risking his friendship and potential new relationship with Vincent just isn't worth it. The older Irishman means the world to him. Nothing is worth risking that.

Curiously, Vincent asks, "How far did he get before you stopped him? Keith, I mean."

Cheeks flushing slightly, Shane mumbles, "He didn't…uh, touch…anything."

"Good. I want to be the first guy to touch you," the blond says possessively, flashing Shane a wicked smirk. "But not right now, unfortunately," he adds in heavy regret. "I have a fashion parade to put on in a matter of hours and I need all the bloody help I can get." He shoves Shane off his lap and directs him to a mannequin, placing the brunette boy's hands onto a piece of fabric draped over the dummy's torso.

"Here, hold this."

Smiling, Shane does as he's told and watches in admiration as Vincent's talented fingers whiz around, tucking and pinning the material into a fashionable piece of wearable art.


	2. Irish Cream

Title – Irish Eyes Part 2: Irish Cream

Author – Rina

Rating – MA for mature adults only

Warning – M/M, graphic male to male sex

Pairing – Shane and Vincent (of course!)

Note – I got lots of nice comments about this first part of this fic so decided to continue and give the boys what we ALL wanted them to have in the movie but never got. C'mon, you know they both were totally boy-crushing on each other. I've posted this at but just realised I hadn't here. Also, please excuse the pun of this title but Irish Cream is my favourite alcoholic beverage and it sounded appropriately naughty so…*shrugs and grins* Enjoy and please comment!

……………

(Part two)

Nearly the entire apartment block can hear Vincent Cusack and Shane Butler returning late at night, drunkenly tripping over their own feet, bringing the pub smell of beer and smoke with them. As they noisily ascend the stairs, Vincent has one arm around his brunette friend's shoulders – partly as a show of affection and partly to keep himself from stumbling backwards and thudding gracelessly down to the ground floor like a sack of potatoes. They've both lost count of the number of dark Irish ales that passed their lips over the last few hours but it was obviously enough to make them a trifle intoxicated. Well, they had to do something to celebrate the resounding success of Vincent's graduate fashion show and guzzling enormous pints of Guinness did the job rather satisfactorily. In the mood for some dancing, Vincent had dragged Shane out under the disco ball at one of the popular night clubs in Limerick. Not much of a dancer, Shane still had immense fun watching Vincent get lost in the music, watching the way he was using his tall, slim body to keep with the beat, moving both elegantly and sexually under the swirling lights, occasionally brushing up against Shane and throwing him sultry, suggestive smiles which the younger boy couldn't help but return, his face dimpling rather cutely. Once recently, Gemma had commented on the fact that the boys flirted with each other and while Vincent strenuously denied it then, that night it was actually true. They were flirting their asses off. And they didn't care who noticed it. Gemma had been hanging out with them and sharing their jubilant mood until Shane turned around sometime later and realised she was long gone, probably making out with one of her lesbian friends somewhere. However, neither of the guys missed her very much, completely wrapped up with what they had accomplished that evening, and with each other, the things that they've been through together recently cementing their bond as best friends.

The last couple of days had been totally crazy and they almost didn't make it to the fashion show when cops raided their apartment minutes after Vincent decided all by himself to try smoking marijuana, which in retrospect was a dumb thing to do. Too freaked out to hide it somewhere or even flick it out the window, Vincent still had the incriminating lit joint in his hand when they were sprung. After more drugs were found on the premises - the drugs Shane had yet to dispose of, including cocaine - he and Vincent were hauled off to the police station and locked behind bars. Though they were laughing hysterically about the situation sitting in the cold, dank cell together, it was purely to stop themselves from crying with fear and despair. They were both quite conscious that being caught with drugs was a serious offence and could ruin their whole lives and careers before they'd even started. Vincent would never graduate from art school and Shane wouldn't even be able to get into the place. He'd end up having to work at Supermac's selling chips and wearing a stupid hat. It was only by a stroke of sheer luck that Vincent had come face to face with his latest shag – a much older male police officer – who was forced to let the boys go lest his secret gay nightlife was exposed. The two incredibly relieved friends had walked out of the station as free men just in the nick of time to show up for the parade.

Shane, still buzzing from being the centre of attention during the night's main event, definitely doesn't need narcotics to feel high, his face aching from all the grinning he's been doing. He drops the keys trying to unlock the door to their apartment and drops them again trying to pick them up, Vincent doubling over in helpless laughter at Shane's slurred swearing and inebriated clumsiness. It seems almost inconceivable that those same awkward hands were using sharp scissors and operating a dangerous sewing machine mere hours ago and doing a damn fine job of it too for a novice, assisting Vincent to finish all of his outfits before the big day. Somebody in the building irately yells out for them to shut the fuck up and that just makes Vincent laugh even harder. At last, after ten goes, Shane manages to get the key into the lock and opens the door, the two of them staggering in; their cheeks tinged pink from the cold air outside - though neither of them felt the chill as they walked home from the club, plenty warmed from lager and the flush of achievement.

Unwinding the knitted scarf from around his neck, Vincent beams, "That went amazingly well! I can't believe we pulled it all together in such a short amount of time. Utter geniuses, we are." He throws his scarf and jacket in the direction of the coat rack, kicks his leather boots into a corner and turns to Shane, who has similarly divested himself of his heavy outer garments. Shane is standing there in his socks, a few inches shorter than Vincent in height which is a pity because he'd make a great male model if only he were taller. All the female models in Vincent's fashion parade towered over Shane like Amazon women but the young man still stood out like a shining star between them; an exotic, sexy, punk-like creature with dark eye makeup, spiky hair and red lips. Amongst all the other pretty faces in the room, Vincent only had eyes for him. In all truthfulness, he couldn't stop staring at the boy.

The same can be said for Shane. As soon as he stepped onto the stage wearing Vincent's luxurious crimson-trimmed coat, he scanned the crowd searching for his blond friend. When Shane spotted him, Vincent was standing next to his old pal Gemma but the attractive, long-haired girl didn't even rate a second glance. Shane kept his gaze locked with Vincent's right until he reached the end of the catwalk and did his dramatic turn, the whole time smiling as though he kept a juicy secret. Which he did. Nobody there, not even Gemma, knew that he and Vincent shared a blisteringly hot tongue-kiss the day before. The sensuous, mysterious aura that Shane projected as he sauntered down the long stage captured everybody's interest and many wondered aloud who this striking young lad in the coat was. He was the perfect walking advertisement for Vincent's designs and afterwards, Vincent had taken three orders for similar outfits, an impressive result for a previously unknown fashion student.

"Thank you so, so much for helping me," Vincent says in gratitude, taking Shane's hand and kissing it with a flourish. "You're a saint."

"My pleasure." Shane grins, two identical hollows appearing in his cheeks. "I quite enjoyed dressing up, actually."

"I'm sure you did, you little tart." Vincent smirks, ruffling his flatmate's brown locks. The red hair extensions have been removed from Shane's fauxhawk but the remains of black liner and cherry lipstick can still be seen smudged around his eyes and staining his mouth. Thanks to the alcohol coursing through his system, Vincent's mood changes from flirtatious to ultra deadly serious in the blink of an eye.

"You know what, Shane? You looked incredible on the catwalk. Just incredible."

"Well, I was wearing your incredible clothes," Shane lightly replies, poking Vincent in the chest.

Making a dismissive gesture, Vincent says, "No, not just the clothes. I mean, you." He reverently touches the younger one's cheekbone, admiration showing in his green gaze and coming though in his voice. "Your eyes…your smile. So stunning. So confident. I was very proud of you. You've come a long way, office boy."

Recalling the timid, uninteresting geek that he used to be, Shane remarks in a pleased tone, "Yeah, I have, haven't I?"

Vincent smiles in agreement, smoothing down Shane's left sideburn. "I've never seen you look as happy as you were up there. You were positively radiant."

With the boldness of one who has had too much to drink, Shane reveals, "Well, that's because I knew I was coming home with you."

"Jesus. That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me," Vincent gushes, placing a hand over his heart as if to stop it skipping right out of his chest with joy. And then, his eyes flash heatedly like emeralds in the sun, his tone abruptly changing to a deep growl.

"Get your fucking shirt off."

"Vincent," Shane exclaims as the passionate young man shoves him against the closed door and tugs roughly at his clothing. "Take it easy!"

"I never take it easy," Vincent announces as buttons fly off and clatter to the floor, so impatient is he to touch bare, male skin. "Life's too short to take it easy."

The article of clothing is yanked from him and Shane sucks in a breath as Vincent's cool fingers come into contact with his warm flesh, invoking a rash of goosebumps to rise along his chest and arms. He tips his spinning head back against the wooden door as Vincent attacks his throat with a hungry mouth, his hands sliding up Shane's soft stomach.

"I've been itching to undress you all night," Vincent mutters between nibbles on the other boy's neck. Mind reeling with both drunkenness and swiftly rising lust, Shane just swallows and stands there with his arms by his side, wanting this but deathly afraid of it at the same time, unsure of what is expected of him or how to respond to Vincent's aggressive advances. He sucks in another quick breath when seeking fingertips find his erect nipple and an unmistakable hardness finds his hip, pressing into it demandingly.

Swallowing again, Shane begins tentatively, "Uh, Vincent…you're gonna have to help me here. I-I don't know what to do. To be honest, this is all completely new to me."

"What, sex?" Vincent pulls back to look at him with amusement. "I know for a fact you and that Supermac girl christened the apartment after our housewarming party - noisily, I might add - so don't you dare try to say you're a virgin."

"Well, no. I'm not a virgin," the brunette boy discloses bashfully. "But I am when it comes to other guys. Remember, I told you so when we were drinking that bottle of wine."

A wide smile inching across his classically handsome face, Vincent realises how much fun it's going to be breaking in someone who used to be straight. He's never had the opportunity to do that before.

"Never fear, my boy," he says flippantly, taking hold of Shane's hand and leading him over to the couch, motioning for him to sit down. "You don't have to do anything. I'll take care of everything for you. Every little detail. All right?"

"All right," Shane breathlessly agrees, his heart pounding crazily in his chest at the thought of getting naked with his gorgeous gay roommate. Before Vincent can make another move, Shane grabs his arm.

"Just please don't do anything that might…you know…hurt."

"Hurt?" Astonishment shows in Vincent's expression. Climbing onto the cushions next to Shane, he cradles the second young man's face and gazes into his vulnerable blue eyes. "You're my best friend, Shane. I'd never hurt you," he vows. "You know that. You know you can trust me."

"I do," Shane answers somewhat guiltily, "but I'm also fully aware of how two men have sex and I don't know if I'm ready for…"

Vincent's soft, understanding chuckle interrupts his fretting.

"Listen, lad. I guarantee that nothing is going to be forcibly inserted into any of your bodily orifices so stop panicking." A corner of the blond man's lips quirks up in a half-smile. "Besides, I'm kind of hoping that will happen to me tonight, if you're okay with the idea."

This time it is Shane's turn to appear astonished. "What? You mean; you actually want ME to…to put my…?" He leaves the rest unspoken, eyes huge and alarmed.

"Oh, yes. All the way," Vincent answers gleefully, enjoying the look of shock on Shane's innocent face. "But like I said, you don't have to do anything. Just sit back and enjoy the ride."

"Um…okay," Shane mumbles, feeling utterly out of his depth and overwhelmed as Vincent grasps his shoulders and firmly pushes him back, making him lie down on the couch. With a purposeful motion, Vincent peels his own t-shirt off, pulling it over his head and letting it fall to the floor. Shane's jaw drops a little at the splendid view of Vincent's bare chest and belly. Of course, he always knew that his flatmate had a good body – the clingy tops he favours show off his lean figure rather effectively – but seeing Vincent in a tight shirt is one thing. Seeing him out of it is another entirely. Not only is he magnificently formed with broad shoulders and a narrow waist but his smooth skin is the colour of golden sand, a very rare thing for an Irishman. Generally speaking, Ireland is populated with folk who resemble the underbelly of a frog, including Shane. The only way Vincent could possibly obtain a bronzed glow like that in a cold country like this is by visiting a tanning salon and paying exorbitant prices by the hour. Still, the results of lying under ultraviolet lights wearing nothing but a pouch on a string are remarkable, the caramel hue of Vincent's flesh making Shane's mouth water just looking at it. Even his male nipples are like two dollops of honey on his chest. Not only does he have the face of a young god, he's quite spectacular underneath his clothes too. All Shane can bring himself to say is, "Wow," but that kind of pops out without him meaning to.

Looking smug, Vincent returns, "Wow, what?"

Attempting to cover up the fact that he was blatantly ogling his best mate's torso, Shane babbles, "Nothing. Just…I mean, well…" He shrugs uselessly. "You're so brown."

"And you're so pale." Vincent splays his long-fingered hand over the boy's abdomen, appreciating the difference in skin colour. "Fortunately, I like pale. Reminds me of milk. Or cream." The insinuating way he smiles after saying that makes Shane pretty certain that he's not talking about something that comes out of a cow.

Stretching out on the comfy couch next to the smaller male, Vincent purrs playfully, "Are you gonna let me taste your cream tonight, loverboy?"

Shane blushes scarlet at that and Vincent laughs in delight, his white teeth gleaming. "God, you're adorable. I'm going to enjoy corrupting your pure soul with my wicked, worldly ways."

Embarrassed, Shane mutters, "Stop teasing me."

With a saucy arch of his brow, Vincent drawls, "I haven't even BEGUN to tease you yet, Butler." He grasps Shane's chin and makes the flustered young man look at him, a devilish glint in his knowing green eyes. "But you're gonna enjoy every minute of it, I promise."

Shane forgets his embarrassment when Vincent leans down and claims his mouth, the silky touch of the older man's lips and the heady scent of his designer cologne driving all sensible thought out of his brain. The same drugged, euphoric feeling wells up inside Shane exactly as it had the last time Vincent kissed him, only now they're not stopping to sew up outfits. The fashion show is long over and they have all the time in the world to kiss. Vincent's lips may not be as plump and full as Shane's but Lord, does he know how to use them. He expertly coaxes Shane's tongue out of his mouth, stroking it with his own before plunging back in deeply and rhythmically, the heat, wetness and intimacy of the act making Shane feel as though he's already being made love to. His pants have a noticeable swelling on the front of them when Vincent finally releases his mouth, dragging those talented lips over his chin and down to Shane's neck, a strong pulse thudding in the main artery there. Breathing erratically and heavily, Shane arches his head back onto the couch cushions, allowing Vincent full access to his throat. The older man takes advantage of the offer, sucking at the salty skin and nipping there softly with small, sharp teeth as one hand skims through the sparse hair in the centre of Shane's chest, briefly stopping to trace his tiny nipples with a fingertip, and continuing down to his stomach.

When Keith did this to him on the lounge room floor, it felt uncomfortable and unnatural but with Vincent it feels right. It feels like something that's meant to be, like something that he should let happen. And by God, Shane wants this to happen, more than anything. He wants to be touched by his blond roommate, wants to be aroused and pleasured and made to moan out loud. He's still a little scared and uncertain about what's going to be done to him but he places his trust in Vincent, letting him take charge and assume control, hoping to Christ that his trust is not betrayed.

His chest rises and falls quicker as Vincent's palm rubs over the bulge in his pants, the other male's be-ringed fingers popping the button on his waistband and whisking down his fly. Tensing, Shane waits in high-strung expectancy. Vincent draws back his underwear and combs his fingers through the black ringlets low on Shane's abdomen. When Vincent's hand coils possessively around his dick, Shane jerks from the unexpected raw shock of it but the older man doesn't stop, moving his tightened fingers up and down, sliding the skin over Shane's hardened rod and back again with tantalising slowness. Keeping up the provocative wrist movements, Vincent begins kissing along his partner's chest, diverting to flick his tongue over Shane's nipple, causing him to jolt again, the sensation likened to a zap of static electricity.

"Shit," Shane breathes as Vincent lays moist kisses down the trail of fine, dark hair on his stomach, the second man making his intended destination very obvious. Shane may have had sex before but neither of the girls he did it with gave him a blow job, which is what Vincent evidently plans to do. He recalls when Vincent crouched down beside him while he was sitting in a swivel chair and said seductively in his ear, "Now, I'm going to give you something that you desperately need. Something I've wanted to do to you ever since I first laid eyes on you. And you're gonna love it." Like any other guy would, Shane immediately thought he was going to get his dick sucked – and was secretly very excited about that – until Vincent brought out the comb and scissors and gave him a haircut. Not that he isn't happy with his new, trendy hairstyle but those erotically-charged words have been haunting him ever since, popping into his head at the most inconvenient moments and resulting in distracting, shameful fantasies. Tonight, it seems Vincent is going to fulfil that half-made promise and so he damn well should, getting Shane's hopes up like that and then not following through.

The second male sticks the point of his tongue into Shane's bellybutton, sweeping around in a tiny, enticing circle and Shane curses under his breath again, wanting that taunting tongue on his painfully swollen cock. Well aware of this, Vincent shifts on the couch so that his mouth is right above Shane's groin. He leans down and very lightly grazes his lips along the velvety underside of the younger boy's veined shaft. Shane drags in a ragged breath at the contact, every nerve in his body turning hyper-sensitive. Playing the experienced hustler, Vincent parts his lips and softly blows onto Shane's dick, the feather-light burst of air making the burning organ twitch in frustration. Not what he is wanting at all, Shane gives a small growl and strains upward, towards Vincent's mouth. Pulling back in time, Vincent glances sideways at Shane and grins impishly.

"See, Shane. Now THAT's teasing."

"Fucking hilarious," Shane retorts sulkily. "First you give me the wrong answer to my chemistry paper, and now this. You really are a bastard."

Chuckling, Vincent lifts Shane's thickly engorged dick off his stomach and lowers his head again, proceeding to make up for the cruel torturing. The first thing he does is lick a crystal drop of moisture from the rounded end of Shane's length, catching it before it drops onto his belly. It's not quite cream but the prelude to it - a sugary, clear syrup that melts in Vincent's mouth and leaves him wanting more. With a dart of his tongue, he wets his lips and then eases them down over the smooth tip of Shane's maleness, sucking and squeezing the blood-filled cylinder hard with his fingers to produce another few drops of nectar. At this manoeuvre, Shane hisses through his teeth and his hands clench into fists, nails cutting into his palms. Vincent lets his jaw relax so he can engulf more of the pulsing flesh that he holds, eyes closed with concentration, his blond lashes long and feathery. Shane watches with absorbed interest as Vincent's open lips glide up and down, going further each time and leaving his shaft shimmering with saliva on the receding stroke. Watching Vincent suck him is the sexiest thing Shane has ever seen. This is far, far sexier than all those skinny girls wandering around backstage at the fashion show in their underwear. This is hot. This is dirty. This is pubes, skin and spit and moist wet noises, like a scene from a porn film. Except it's real. And the way it feels, Vincent's lips and tongue sliding all over his stiff pole, swallowing him, eating him up…

"Jesus, Vincent. That's incredible," he slurs, voice thick with desire. His praise spurs Vincent on, who moans in his throat, sucking harder, his cheeks hollow with suction. Eyes heavy-lidded with sexual arousal, Shane studies the smooth, slick way Vincent performs his oral technique, finding it utterly fascinating. Before long, Shane's hands are roaming over Vincent's tanned shoulders and back, stroking and lightly massaging the muscled plain, wanting to give something back to the other guy for giving him such superb bliss. In heaven himself, Vincent swirls his tongue around Shane's glossy knob, loving the saccharine taste of the boy and the very positive response he's receiving. Unlike some of the men he's done this to, Shane's not pushing his head down, yanking his hair or brutally forcing his cock down Vincent's throat. He's just lying there enjoying it, the way he should be. Apart from breathing unevenly and shallowly, the only thing he's physically doing is touching Vincent's upper back, the soft strokes and caresses making the older man's skin tingle nicely and the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up.

One of Vincent's hands is grasping the hilt of Shane's erection, holding it upright from its nest of ebony curls. With the other hand, he tugs Shane's pants down further and slips his fingers between those pale thighs, gently starting to fondle the brunette's downy masculine pouch while continuing to work magic with his mouth. This new move drives Shane to even greater heights of happiness and he digs his fingernails into Vincent's shoulders, beginning to make small noises that sound like he's going to ejaculate any second now so Vincent pulls away before he gets a mouthful of sperm. Not that he dislikes the taste - quite the opposite - but he doesn't want Shane to blow too soon. And not in his mouth. He'd rather have Shane come inside him so he can see the kid's face when he does. But first, Shane needs to settle down a bit or he's not going to last two thrusts.

When Vincent stops sucking him, Shane makes another noise but this time it's of disappointment. He was so close. So bloody close. He almost feels like hitting Vincent for that. Again.

"Sorry, lad, but I've got other plans for you," Vincent says apologetically, shifting back up along the couch beside Shane and kissing the tip of his nose.

"I hope those plans include me having an orgasm because seriously, Vincent, you're testing my patience here," Shane replies warningly, his balls starting to ache from all the teasing.

"Oh, you will, trust me. And it's gonna be the best orgasm you've ever had in your life," Vincent promises him. He bites his lip. "Look, Shane, I know I said you didn't have to do anything, but there is one thing I'd really like you to do for me. If you don't mind, that is."

Concerned blue eyes search Vincent's green ones. "What do you want?"

Vincent takes Shane's wrist, placing the younger boy's hand on the front of his fashionable trousers. "I want this."

Shane doesn't jerk his hand back but he doesn't move it either, leaving it hovering on Vincent's zipper, undecided, that frightened possum look beginning to appear in his face again.

"You don't have to do what I just did. I don't expect that," Vincent reassures him. "Just touch me. Please," he adds, asking the favour partly to distract Shane from his testicular pain and party because he actually really wants Shane to do it. His tone lowers, becomes more persuasive.

"Come on, Butler, show me some of that boldness you displayed up on the catwalk. Show me that boldness that made you kiss me for the first time. I know it's in you."

Courage slowly increasing, Shane cautiously unfastens Vincent's pants and Vincent stays perfectly still, not wanting to scare the boy with any sudden movements, feeling as though he's luring a fearful woodland creature to take food from his fingers.

"Go on," Vincent encourages when Shane hesitates once more. "It's only me."

Knowing foolishly that nothing in Vincent's trousers is going to bite him, Shane seizes upon his newfound confidence and slips his hand inside, beneath the elastic band of the other male's boxer shorts. First, he feels coarse curls under his fingertips and when he looks down, sees that those curls are a chestnut brown, a lot darker than the hair on Vincent's head, which Shane suspects has been chemically lightened. Then he feels blazing heat and satiny skin, underneath which lies a hard centre of blood and tissue. Curving his fingers around that intriguing combination of textures and temperature, Shane realises he's in familiar territory here and any doubts he may have had fade away like smoke in the breeze. There's nothing scary about what he's touching. He's got one just like it. And he knows what his one likes.

"That's it, my boy," Vincent whispers huskily as Shane's soft hand caresses his staff with an exquisite gentleness. "Don't be shy now."

Lying back, Vincent drowns in a few wonderful, dizzying minutes of Shane's undivided attention, the second male's investigative fingers growing bolder, tighter and firmer, jacking him from root to tip until Vincent starts to leak pre-come, dripping it onto Shane's thumb. Curious, Shane retrieves his hand and gazes at the clear fluid oozing down his knuckle.

Yeah, lick it off, Vincent thinks to himself in a moment of sinful voyeurism. Taste me, baby.

As if granting his wish, Shane brings that thumb up to his mouth and inquisitively swipes the glycerine-like liquid away with his pink tongue, his eyebrows lifting as he discovers the pleasant, syrupy flavour of Vincent's essence.

Witnessing this, Vincent almost dies from the hotness of it all, an overpowering rush of strong feeling towards the brunette boy sweeping through him like a flash fire.

"You're fucking amazing, Shane," he breathes impassionedly, grabbing Shane by the face and kissing him before the other male can respond, tongue delving in hungrily, tasting his own sweetness in Shane's already sweet mouth. Once again putty in Vincent's capable hands, Shane dissolves against the first man, letting himself be ravished with lips, tongue and fingers until his cheeks are flushed and his rapid heartbeat is echoing in his ears. He presses up against Vincent, chest to bare chest, rubbing his crotch on his friend's thigh, unable to think of anything else except wanting Vincent's body close and naked next to his own, needing him, craving him so very badly, not even caring at that point if he's going to be inside of Vincent or if Vincent's going to be inside of him. He just wants sex and he wants it now.

Also getting to that feverish, delirious stage, Vincent - with great difficulty - pulls away from Shane's addictive mouth, restless hips and buttery-soft skin before he disgraces himself and comes messily all over the couch. Reluctant to let Vincent go anywhere, Shane clings to him, staring up at the other young man with a glazed look in his eyes, urgent need displayed all over his face.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm not leaving you. I want this as much as you do, trust me. I'll be right back," Vincent tells Shane and bounds out of the room, holding his unfastened trousers up with both hands so he doesn't trip over them. While he's gone, Shane eagerly wriggles out of the rest of his attire – half-removed pants, briefs and socks - reclining his trim, unclothed form back against the comfortable spongy cushions of the lounge suite, luxuriating in the feel of being completely undressed and free, waiting for Vincent to return, filled with giddy anticipation of what's to come. He is also filled with a touch of fear of the unknown but that's what makes it so exciting.

When he makes his way back, Vincent has abandoned his clothing and is only wearing that bead necklace around his throat, a silver bracelet on his wrist and rings on his fingers. Aside from the jewellery, he's completely nude. And breathtaking. As he strolls cat-like into the room, his body glows in the warm light emanating from the bar heater in the hearth, turning his skin into moulded copper and his spiked hair into threads of yellow gold.

"Now, Shane. Normally I'd ask you to wear a condom. You just don't know where someone's been," Vincent remarks wisely, climbing on top of the other young man, thighs apart, his knees to either side of Shane's hips. "However, I know where you've been, brother, and that's nowhere."

"Hey," Shane protests in indignation. "I've been somewhere! Twice, actually."

"Yes, but you haven't been where you're about to go now, have you?" Vincent emphasizes, glancing between his own legs. "So, I know I'm pretty safe with you and you with me but for heaven's sakes, don't take chances with anyone else. Also, when you fuck a guy, you must use lubricant," he stresses in a matter-of-fact manner. "It's very, very important. Otherwise, you'll both end up in all kinds of pain and believe me, you don't want that." He pulls a face as if remembering such an incident. "Since this is your first time, I'll spare you a graphic demonstration of how to apply the stuff. Let's just say, here's some I prepared earlier."

Wrapping his hand around the base of Shane's shaft, Vincent bends it back, and the smaller boy's mouth forms an "o" shape as the tip of his dick comes into contact with a thick and extremely slippery substance between Vincent's buttocks. As the reality of what's about to occur next hits him full-force, Shane clutches Vincent's hips, his hands starting to tremble with nerves and his heart dancing a frantic Irish jig behind his ribcage.

Before he takes his formerly straight companion into the life-changing realm of the queer, Vincent gazes down at Shane's face, admiring the youthful loveliness there. There are freckles dusted over his nose, forehead and cheeks and his eyes are wide and luminous within their fringe of dark lashes, the angelic blue orbs showing a mixture of naiveté, lust and apprehension. He may be twenty years old and has had a brief stint as a drug mule but he's still very much a boy with a lot to learn about life. And love. Only in his early twenties himself, Vincent might not be the best person to give lessons on life but he definitely aims to help Shane as much as he can with the latter.

Poised above his willing accomplice, Vincent questions, "Ready?"

Too nervous to speak, Shane just gulps and nods. Aided by the colourless gel he'd applied in the bedroom, Vincent gradually lowers himself down, watching Shane's reaction. As his cock disappears inside Vincent bit by indescribable bit, Shane's mouth opens wider in a voiceless gasp and his eyes get bigger. The sensation of being enveloped with his best friend's inner warmth is simply electrifying and Shane's never experienced anything as intense. It's like having liquid mercury poured over his groin. Whereas for Vincent, this feeling is one he's very familiar with but it still gives him shivers up the spine every time. Letting out a slow, exhaled breath, he sinks down the last few inches until Shane is fully inside him. Savouring the deliciousness of the moment, the older male closes his eyes and tips his styled blond head back, groaning softly in his throat.

Shane's not as big as some of the men Vincent's been with in the past but the boy is long enough and wide enough to make him feel quite adequately filled. Besides, it's Shane and Vincent doesn't love him for his penis. He loves Shane for who he is – a gentle, sensitive, caring young man with the face of an angel and the heart to match. One day he'll tell Shane that but spouting poetic lines about cherubs and roses isn't really Vincent's style, especially not when there's scalding hot sex to be had.

Balancing on his shins and knees, Vincent lifts up until only the end of Shane's length remains within him, then lets gravity help him descend, shuddering as he is impaled anew. When Vincent slides all the way down his shining shaft, ripples of erotic chills spread through Shane's stomach and he starts to moan. Loudly. Reminded of how the apartment walls aren't soundproof, Vincent hurriedly puts a hand over his roommate's mouth.

"Shush, the neighbours are sleeping!"

Too drunk and horny to care, Shane continues moaning behind his palm so Vincent pushes two fingers into his mouth. That shuts him up. Surprised at first, Shane just stares up at Vincent with his large blue eyes, but rapidly realises that being silenced in such a manner is quite the turn-on. Soon, his tongue is wrapping around the slender digits and he is sucking on them, cheeks concave and lashes fluttering shut in wanton abandonment, letting his hidden sexuality emerge from the shadows. Tremendously turned on by the sight of this, Vincent stifles his own moan and slowly moves his glistening fingers in and out of Shane's mouth, acutely aware of the obscene symbolism of the act. He almost rises up to put his dick in front of those obliging red lips but that would mean getting off Shane's lovely solid width and that just feels too good inside him. Staying right where he is, he leans down, removes his fingers and kisses that lush, rosebud mouth.

"To hell with the neighbours," he murmurs against Shane's lips. "Make all the damn noise you want."

When Vincent sits up and starts rocking his hips, Shane tries to be considerate to the other people living in the building and keeps his moaning down to an acceptable level. Vincent gives a few low groans of his own but mainly communicates his enjoyment by breathing in deeply through his nose and out through his mouth, much like a form of meditation or yoga. He links his fingers with Shane's – both hands - and links their gazes as well, focusing on the feeling of being truly connected with his younger partner, of both giving and receiving pleasure. Every nuance of emotion that flickers in each other's eyes is openly visible, the closeness shared by the two of them not just physical but soul-deep as well, making it that much more gratifying. Instead of being frenzied, rough and fast, the way sexual encounters usually are for Vincent, he deliberately makes this one with Shane a calm, blissful, almost peaceful experience, wanting to make it last as long as possible. This is their first time and as clichéd as it sounds, it really should be special and memorable.

Shane, for one, is definitely going to remember this for the rest of his life. He stares up at Vincent in awe, scarcely able to believe this is happening to him, that his extraordinary, green-eyed flatmate is actually making love to him. Both of his past experiences with girls have been fumbling, messy and clumsy but this is so perfect; it's art. The way Vincent moves his body reminds Shane of a cowboy astride a horse, shifting his weight and lifting up at just the right moment so as not to break the pace of the ride, instinctually becoming one with the living creature underneath him. He uses his hips and knees to rise and then sink down, repeating the motion in a graceful, fluid loop, thigh and abdominal muscles flexing with each lift. With the other man on top of him, pressing him down into the couch, Shane unquestionably feels as though he's being ridden but at the same time, he feels as though Vincent is guiding him with his well-timed movements, showing him which way to go, leading him down the road towards a destination they both want to reach.

As Shane's climax starts to build, he automatically begins to buck up, causing Vincent to suck in his breath and tauten his stomach. Sensing that he's causing Vincent to lose his carefully set rhythm, Shane gets impatient and takes over, holding his lover's lean waist and driving firmly upwards as far as he can go, visibly jolting the other male with the force of the powerful thrust.

"Fucking hell," Vincent swears, gripping Shane's freckled shoulders with both hands and grinding back down into his pelvis. "Keep doing that!"

Perilously close to his peak, Shane wouldn't be able to stop even if he wanted to and he stabs the whole length of his cock into that snug, heated channel of slipperiness, harder and harder, the sound of smacking flesh and Vincent's excited gasping filling the room. Astoundingly, Vincent starts coming before Shane, even though Shane is the lesser skilled of the two. The older male's face tenses – in fact, his whole body tenses, especially on the inside and it is this sudden tightening that tips Shane over the edge to join him in orgasm, thrusting madly all the way.

"Oh God, Shane," Vincent groans, as the first stream of warm white fluid surges out of him and hits Shane's pale chest. "You're making me come, baby...Oh yeah, oh yeah, ohh…"

Shane is not quite as vocal as Vincent in expressing his release but he does give a short, sharp cry when he slams deep one final time and explodes into his partner's belly, followed by a few desperate whimpers as nearly unbearable ecstasy shimmers through his whole being, starting at his groin and spreading outwards in white-hot tingles, reaching the very tips of his fingers and toes.

Vincent collapses on top of Shane, both of them panting and slick with perspiration and other body fluids. They stay like that for a while, recuperating, Shane too spent to mind Vincent's sweaty weight on him or the heavy breathing buffeting his ear. Finally, Vincent kisses Shane gratefully on the forehead, lifts off him and flops back onto the couch beside him, drying semen smeared on both the boys' stomachs.

Smiling dreamily at the ceiling, Vincent states, "Told you it was nice."

"Mm," Shane murmurs exhaustedly, his gut and thighs throbbing with pleasant aftershocks. "That was grand. I can see why you like doing it."

"Christ. You probably think I'm a huge slut," Vincent says with a grimace. "Oh hell, I don't blame you. I've been with men whose names I didn't even know and didn't even ask." He turns to the brunette boy, his green gaze level and serious, despite still being slightly drunk. "But I want to make it very clear that I don't regard this as a one night stand, as just some meaningless sex. It's more than that." He takes Shane's hand, twining their fingers together, their faces only centimetres apart on the couch cushion.

"I care for you, Shane. A great deal." Vincent's tone is soft and sincere. "You're more than just my best friend. A lot more. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yeah. I know what you mean," Shane says quietly, feeling exactly the same way about Vincent, who is funny, effervescent, genuine and generous and the best thing to ever happen to Shane in his whole life. He pauses for a beat. "But please don't sleep with any more strange men while you're with me."

"Why would I want to? I have everything I need right here." Tenderly, Vincent cups Shane's face. "A beautiful boy with a beautiful soul."

"You charming bastard," Shane quips, jabbing Vincent in the ribs with his elbow. "And I never thought you were a slut, by the way. You've just had more fun than me, that's all."

"And you're just being nice," Vincent chastises, knowing that he could afford to be a tad more restrained with his choice of sexual partners. "But I only want to have fun with you from now on, Butler. In fact, I'm gonna teach you everything I know about having fun. You're gonna be an expert in fun before you know it."

"Oh, I think I've learnt something tonight already," Shane comments, curling up to Vincent and laying his head on the blond man's shoulder, his eyes closing in contentment as Vincent's arm slips protectively and comfortingly around his waist. Shane was lying to his ma on the phone when he said he wasn't lonely a couple of weeks ago. Because he was. Awfully. He felt like he didn't fit in anywhere, that he didn't belong, that nobody cared about him or wanted him. He felt like an outcast in this town, like a reject with doors continually slamming in his face. But all that's different now. Doors are opening up for him, new opportunities, a new way of thinking and living. He's actually embracing his life now instead of just existing, participating in this world instead of sitting back and watching everyone else do it. He's learned how to live, to breathe, to be and to love. And Vincent taught him that. He and the vivacious twenty-three year old have evolved from being strange flatmates to warm friends and finally, to committed, passionate lovers. He's not sure how he ended up being so lucky or blessed - perhaps it's the St Christopher's medal his ma gave him - but since Vincent came into his life, everything's changed for the better. Vincent cares about him. Vincent wants him. Here, in his best friend's arms, is where Shane belongs. He'll never have to be lonely again.

Sometime later, the older of the two breaks the relaxed, companionable silence. "Shane? Can I be painfully honest with you?"

"Sure," Shane answers, lazily toying with Vincent's necklace. "You are every other time."

"Well, uh…There's no delicate way to say this so I'll just say it. Gemma tried to fuck me the other night. And I kind of let her for a bit." He winces. "Sorry."

"What?" Shane's eyes pop open in alarm. "You had sex with Gemma?"

"Only for thirty seconds," Vincent replies defensively. "She attacked me and was on top of my dick before I knew it. I think she was attempting to turn me straight. Didn't work, obviously." He looks down at their naked bodies and snorts amusedly. He sobers in a hurry when he sees the upset expression on Shane's face.

"But don't worry about it, lad. It was nothing," Vincent says soothingly. "I pushed her away. I didn't even come."

"Why not?" Shane regards the other male closely. "Didn't you like it?"

"Not really. It felt weird," Vincent admits, squirming uncomfortably. "Besides, I kept thinking of you." He sighs. "I dunno what it is, Shane, but I just feel like I want to protect you or something. Keep you safe, you know?" As if to prove his point, he hugs Shane closer, smelling the scent of his hair.

"While I was in my room shielding my manhood from Gemma, you were out here all alone nursing your bloody nose and sniffling into the rug. I was trying to be mad at you for slapping me but when I heard you crying all I could do was wish I could hold you." Vincent's voice turns unusually quiet, shy almost. "I literally ached to be with you and comfort you – to kiss your tears away - but I thought I couldn't because you didn't like me that way; that you would never like me that way. I thought you would never be mine; that someone else would get to have you. Not me. And it tore me up inside."

Moved by the heartfelt confession, Shane replies gently, "You don't have to wish anymore. I'm right here." He strokes Vincent's chiselled jaw line lovingly. "And if you ever go away I'll still be right here, waiting for you."

"Don't be daft," Vincent scoffs. "I'm as poor as a church mouse. I'm not going anywhere. I'm never going anywhere."

"You might. One day," Shane hints enigmatically, thinking of the ticket to New York hidden in his drawer – a gift for Vincent that he's going to give very soon. Vincent's always wanted to go to the Big Apple to study fashion and since Shane has a surplus of illegally obtained money, he wants to help his blond friend achieve his lifelong dream. Even if it does mean they'll be apart for a while.

"But not tonight," Vincent proclaims, a naughty twinkle in his eye as he runs a finger over Shane's milky, freckle-dotted shoulder and down his arm. Moving fast, he pushes Shane onto his back and climbs on top of him, straddling the dark-haired boy's hips and smirking down at him triumphantly.

"Tonight, I'm gonna shag you until you can't stand up."

Looking pointedly to where Vincent is sitting on him, Shane returns dryly, "I think YOU are going to be the one having problems standing up tomorrow."

Vincent grins deviously, showing all those perfect pearly teeth. "Well, then, we'll just have to stay in bed, won't we, Dimples?"

Shane just smiles and slides a hand up Vincent's thigh.

END


End file.
